


Love to waste

by Howling_Harpy



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet, Comfort Sex, M/M, Pining, Porn with Feelings, Relationship of Convenience, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-12-09 08:21:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20991779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Howling_Harpy/pseuds/Howling_Harpy
Summary: Lewis hits rock bottom and it feels like he can't take the heartache anymore, even whiskey doesn't help anymore, and then out of the blue, there's Ron Speirs with a similar problem and a proposed solution.





	Love to waste

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of the rare pairs I like and so naturally I had to make some content. Parts of this fic have been written in an intercity bus and at work, that's how much I enjoyed writing this project. 
> 
> Disclaimer: This is a piece of fiction based on the HBO drama series and the actors’ portrayals in it. This has nothing to do with any real person represented in the series, and means no disrespect.

There is really no real reason for Lewis Nixon’s and Ron Speirs’ paths to cross. Sure, they are both officers in the same battalion, but Lewis has been with the battalion staff since Toccoa whereas Ron has been exclusively on field duty, most of it as a platoon leader in Dog company. Even after Ron takes command of Easy company, they should have only met in passing.

However, there is the issue of Dick Winters, who could also be called the centre of Lewis’ universe. Where Dick goes, Lewis inevitably follows, and since Dick is emotionally attached to Easy company and all his closest buddies are Easy’s officers, that is also the company Lewis regularly keeps.

And then there is Ron Speirs. 

He is a serious and capable soldier, the type who might make it his career, the type that Lewis dismisses both because of his own distain for the military and because that kind of a man does his job and thus causes no problems. Sure, Lewis also detects something cold in the man, something that fits his reputation and probably makes the enlisted men scared of him, but Lewis would dismiss that too if Dick didn’t bring it up.

Dick does call Ron his buddy and they get along just fine. Ron fits the officers’ group and against all expectations seems to have taken a liking to the now Second Lieutenant Lipton especially, there are no hiccups in the official matters any more than personal ones, but Dick still has his reservations about Ron. Lewis finds it endlessly fascinating how Dick seems to simultaneously both like and not like Ron, but he doesn’t ponder the matter that much, too busy revelling in the fact that he is the one person Dick entrusts with such deep, personal opinions. If there ever is a reason for Lewis to pull himself out of whatever pit he has managed to fall in, it is Dick. 

Lewis however isn’t really friendly with Ron. He mostly eyes the man curiously from afar, talks to him in groups only, and never seeks him out intentionally or alone. Ron is a curiosity of sorts, something to be observed and inspected, a natural-born killer as Dick calls him, but even then Lewis isn’t afraid of him.

Not until later, when Ron seeks him out.

Germany is in many ways the rock bottom for Lewis. He witnesses more senseless death there than he has during the rest of the war added up and drowns himself in whiskey. His neglected, unhappy marriage finally collapses, and despite everything Lewis still feels rotten about it too, and Dick is further from him than ever before. 

In many ways, Lewis is craving. He feels like some sort of a deep black hole has opened up in his gut, and if he stops pouring things into it, its emptiness will swallow him inside out. Whiskey numbs it for a while, but for the first time in his life it isn’t enough. That frightens Lewis. No matter how much he drinks, the gaping hole inside him doesn’t fill up. He drinks all of his whiskey and has to go on search for more, and when he comes up empty-handed he lets go of his standards and downs whatever alcohol he can get his hands on.

He smokes in chain and that doesn’t help either, he just craves more. 

He craves whiskey, he craves the bliss and the calm it gives him. He craves for happier days, he craves for endless sleep. He craves human touch, and he craves love. He craves for Dick’s company, but much like Vat 69 seems to have lost its magical healing powers, so has Dick’s friendship. 

For years Lewis has been content with being the best friend, but now suddenly Dick’s stern looks, silly banter, elbow-bumping and deep personal conversations aren’t enough. That black hole inside Lewis aches, and there is no denying what it wanted to eat. 

He doesn’t want Dick to look at him scoldingly across a table, nor does he want to play buddy-buddy from different sides of the room. He wants to lock the door and be slammed against it. He wants to kiss until his lips can’t bear it anymore, and he wants to tear their clothes off, fall into bed and be screwed into oblivion and back. 

Obviously, none of that is ever going to happen, but still Lewis craves and craves, craves so much he is beginning to frighten himself and wonders when he is finally going to snap and just grab at Dick and send himself straight to hell for one stolen kiss. 

Blessedly, Dick has no idea what Lewis is feeling. He is just annoyed that Lewis is underperforming in his duties more than usual, but even the tight line of his mouth is more concerned than angry, and Lewis loves him a little more. 

In some sort of a self-destructive spree, Lewis keeps drinking and makes a point to do it in front of Dick. He has never hidden his habit from him but now there is a provocative streak to flaunting it, and he knows that Dick picks up on it. Lewis hopes it will put more safety distance between them, and he is disheartened when it does.

There isn’t even any more whiskey left in Dick’s footlocker to give Lewis a sufficient reason to visit him, and if he dragged himself to Dick’s billet now it would look as pathetic as it has always been, and Lewis still has some scraps of his pride left. Those scraps keep him from slinking back to Dick with his tail between his legs, and his recent behaviour keeps Dick from seeking him out in turn, which leaves Lewis moping alone in his own billet, working on a bottle of some sort of stingy and sweet liquor he has managed to find.

"It’s a rare thing to see you alone like this,” says a quiet voice from his door. 

Lewis has his head tipped back with a bottle on his lips and when he turns to look, he sees Ron Speirs casually leaning on the doorframe, picking at his hands. 

It isn’t that strange considering how the battalion officers are billeted in the same huge house they have taken for their purposes, but Lewis is certain that Ron has his assigned bunk in an entirely different wing of the house. 

“Yeah, well, people need breaks,” Lewis replies, not bothering to even pretend that they aren’t talking about Dick. He takes another drink.

“From other people? I can relate to that,” Ron says. 

Lewis expects him to state his business, but the man says nothing at all, simply stays there, standing in Lewis’ doorframe as if it’s perfectly natural to just stand not quite in someone’s room, staring.

Lewis stares back for a good minute before sitting up better on his bed and gives Ron an urging jerk of his head. “Did you want something?” he asks. Ron is standing there with the very tip of his boot over the threshold, enough to make a point but not enough to actually intrude, simply unnerve.

“No. Just wanted to see for myself,” Ron calmly replies.

Lewis snorts. “Captain Nixon without Major Winters is a local attraction now, huh?”

Ron tilts his head. “Of sorts.”

Lewis returns that piercing stare of Ron’s drily, while noting that Ron’s unusual way of looking directly at people without blinking is probably very productive to his reputation. The man has the eyes of a wolf. “You’re so weird,” Lewis finally scoffs, slumping down.

“You’re pretty queer yourself,” Ron counters calmly. 

Lewis feels his insides going cold and liquid at once but keeps his face straight. It could be a coincidence, a harmless jab with unfortunate implications, but Lewis is too much of a realist to miss the steady, knowing stare of Ron’s eyes, and the much more likely explanation is that the man knows exactly what he has said and means all of it.

Survival strategy activates itself even in Lewis’ drunken brain and he grins. “Weird enough to drink whatever this slosh is maybe, but not weird enough to be the man who stares at the man drinking it,” he says, aiming at banter.

Ron doesn’t laugh nor does he turn his eyes away. He just stares for a moment longer, then pushes himself off the doorframe and walks away.

Lewis hasn’t ever before been afraid of Ron, but he does consider it then. 

Ever the intelligence officer, Lewis decides to think about this as a strategic problem to be solved. It isn’t hard to observe Ron as they largely run in the same circles, and what better person to spy on than a friend among your friends. There is nothing suspicious about how much time Lewis spends watching Ron, and with the influx of new information he has plenty of pieces to start with this new puzzle. Now that the war is winding down and there is precious little to do aside from processing prisoners, minding roadblocks and keeping up with the inventories and rations, this little burst of danger is almost welcome. 

Things he learns during the evenings the officers drink together, at poker tables and on looting raids are truly interesting too. The immediate sense of danger fades quickly as no further comments are made, privately or publicly, nor does any gossip start to spread, but other interesting things begin to emerge. Like how now that Lewis is keeping a subtle eye on Ron, he notices that Ron is doing the same. 

He learns to recognize Ron’s curious glances despite the man’s impressive poker face, and those looks are often directed at Lewis and Dick whenever they are in the same room. He has no idea how long they have been watched.

But they are not the only people Ron watches, Lewis notes. Ron’s eyes tend to gravitate towards Lipton, and when they do, they light up. Ron has a habit of letting his gaze rest at Lipton, most often when they sit at a poker table, and so carelessly he lets his eyes fixate to drink the other man in that he often has to be reminded of his turn.

Really, Lewis is again impressed of Ron’s impeccable poker face that doesn’t blush or waver when he is caught, and he can appreciate that Ron’s reputation probably keeps any possible rumours and comments at bay. Lewis is also a bit disappointed with himself for never having spotted this going on right before his eyes, even when Ron is willing to bump shoulders with other men and shove them from his way to be next to Lipton. 

Armed with the knowledge, the next time Ron appears by Lewis’ door, he’s not afraid of him. 

This time Ron follows Lewis to his billet after Lewis has successfully lost all his money at poker. The hour is late and the group starts to disband, some out of responsibility like Lipton who wants to get some sleep, some out of less honourable reasons like Harry who starts to be too drunk to stay up. 

Lewis leaves the giant living-room for his own billet alone, and Ron waits for him to gain a good lead before he follows. Lewis is already in his room with his jacket and boots discarded when Ron appears at the door, a bottle of whiskey in hand that he lifts like an offering. 

Lewis glances at the bottle, then back at the man. “You know, you’re not as mysterious as you like to think,” he points out. “Close the door after you.”

Speirs steps in and kicks the door shut. “I don’t think myself as mysterious,” he says. “On the contrary, I like to think I’m very straightforward.” 

Lewis snorts. “Uh-huh. And that’s why you drop hints and riddles?” 

“Straightforward doesn’t mean stupid,” Ron counters and hands the bottle over.

Lewis takes it and gives it an appreciative look even though it isn’t his brand, then gestures Ron towards the cabinet that has glasses in it. “That’s not what I’ve heard about you in combat.”

“This is not combat,” Ron replies, coming back with two glasses that he holds up for Lewis to fill.

Lewis opens the bottle and pours whiskey in both, then accepts the glass when Ron offers it to him. Ron doesn’t clink their glasses together, just takes his and drinks without looking away. They are standing too close together, but Lewis refuses to be the one to look away or step back. 

Surprisingly, Ron yields ground first and steps back to the small writing desk. It’s not that far away since the room is a scarcely furnished guest bedroom with only a mainly decorative cabinet, a writing desk, a chair and a bed in it, but it’s a step back and thus Lewis moves too, letting himself drop back on his unmade bed against the opposite wall. He cradles the glass of whiskey to his chest like a shield and feels a throb of the emptiness inside, like it senses whiskey and wants to absorb it through his skin and flesh. 

Being suddenly aware of both his craving and his own fragile flesh makes Lewis prickle, and so he turns towards Ron to find him still staring at him. Lewis looks down in his glass.

“You got me a drink,” he says aloud. How awfully transparent, he thinks right after. Or maybe simply straightforward. 

“It’s polite to bring something when joining in someone’s company,” Ron says. 

Suddenly, Lewis hates it all. “Oh, come on,” he groans. He hates the straightforward gestures with the avoidant words, that he doesn’t know what Ron actually wants or intends to do, that they are dancing around something. Lewis has too little whiskey in his glass and too much in his blood to stand the uncertainty. “Like I said, you’re not that mysterious,” he starts, “and I’m the intelligence officer, so trust me, I notice stuff. You’re obviously not here to threaten me with MPs or to blackmail me, so either get to your point or get out and let me drink.” 

Ron listens to his rant with his head tilted like it’s all terribly curious. His expression doesn’t ripple one bit, and then suddenly he strides across the room and drops on the bed next to him. 

Lewis observes him with a side-eye, while Ron keeps looking ahead and takes a swig of whiskey.

“I wanted to inspect the chance of like-minded company,” Ron says after a silent beat. 

“Like-minded, huh. Well won’t you look at that.”

Ron glances at him from the corner of his eye. “I can leave if you want me to. You can keep the bottle.” 

Lewis surprises himself when he answers: “No, you can stay.”

Ron holds his gaze for a moment, then nods and takes another sip. Something shifts in the air, as if they have come to a sort of an agreement without actually talking about anything. Through the comfortable buzz of intoxication Lewis senses a new kind of charge in the air. He glances towards the closed door and thinks that they are truly safely in private. 

“If you are worth your salt as an intelligence officer, you must have noticed me and him,” Ron says suddenly, matter-of-factly. “Not that you and I are too much alike, and it’s not like they are either, but I did wonder if you’d be able to understand wanting someone better than yourself.”

Lewis has to laugh at that, the comment is such a strange mix of heartfelt and backhanded. “Yeah, look at us sorry sons of bitches secretly pining after our unattainable angels,” he snorts.

Ron shrugs, undisturbed. “You could say that, but it’s not like I’m ever going to make an actual move, so good luck to you winning him back.”

Lewis frowns. “I haven’t made a move,” he says. 

Now it’s Ron’s turn to frown. “Didn’t he change his mind?”

Lewis’ heart is suddenly heavy and his throat tight. He can’t think anything to say, just shakes his head.

Ron frowns even more. “I thought you two were –”

“No.”

“Never?”

“He doesn’t want me,” Lewis chokes out and suddenly feels like he’s about to cry. Mortified, he swallows down a sob and wipes a hand down his face. 

All of his sudden sorrow must be visible on his face, because Ron’s brows fly up and for a moment he looks like he’s at loss of words, and then acts as if there is only one rational thing to do. He raises his hand to Lewis’ face, touching his cheek with the back of his hand, then drops it to grab a hold of the front of Lewis’ shirt and pulls him closer in order to kiss him.

Ron kisses deep but slow, like he is scouting uncharted territory; pushing forward with intention but still careful like Lewis is going to go off like a landmine. 

When he pulls back, Lewis can’t stop himself from licking his tingling lips. It’s been so long since he’s been kissed it’s a shock. “What was that?”

Ron just tilts his head. “The next best thing.”

“Is that why you’re here? To comfort me?” 

Ron holds his shirt for a long moment before he shrugs, leans back and says: “Something like that.”

It doesn’t occur to Lewis until much later that Ron may have been looking for some comforting too.

*

The next best thing turns out to be more than just an excuse. Next time when Ron appears at Lewis door with a bottle, Lewis pulls him inside and to the bed, bypassing the bottle entirely and taking his face in his hands to kiss him. 

Kissing Ron is… An experience. It is entirely wrong but at the same time terribly good. Good, because Ron is there, a physical presence, a real person Lewis is allowed to touch and hold and taste, but wrong because it is Ron Speirs and he isn’t the man Lewis wants. 

But even though he might be the wrong man, he is still a man and being close to him is a blessing. Lewis is too tired and needy to fight off that sweet feeling of things coming naturally together with a man. He is too needy to feel guilty about how readily his body comes alive and sings to everything about Ron that is male, how he goes both squirmy and pliant in his hands, and it is all just too good to refuse. The emptiness in him aches like it is starving, and leaning into Ron’s arms is feeding it something.

Oh, he wants it, he wants it all. He wants it all so much, and he wants it with Dick.

Like reading his thoughts, or maybe the desperate twisting of his body, Ron speaks against Lewis’ neck: “Go ahead. Think of him. Think of how you’d have him.”

Ron takes his wrists and presses him down on the bed. His lips search out his neck again, hot breath on his skin. Then he starts to strip him.

Lewis closes his eyes tight. 

It is perfect like that, being stripped and pressed down on his back. That is how he mostly imagines what being with Dick would be like, being taken care of like that and then laid out under him. His wrists are held, gently, and a lithe, strong body covers his. He imagines Dick’s fair face above his, peering down and smiling kindly. Dick is so strong, an athlete through and through, and Lewis wants to feel that, he wants to be handled and explored, warmed up and then taken to his limits. In his daydreams Dick does it all to him with steady hands and a sweet, sweet smile on his face. 

Ron is strong and he has that streak for leading as well, but only behind his eyelids Lewis can see the sweetness Dick has to him, something Ron definitely lacks. 

Ron kisses him, hungry and business-like, his hands running over his body with clear intent and desire, and despite it being all too fast Lewis feels his lonely body responding to the coaxing. He moans under the caressing and pushes his body to the contact, and Ron presses down against him. Ron pushes a thigh between Lewis’, who feels a sudden flare of heat when his legs are spread. Oh, it is just like he imagined it, when Ron’s hands unbutton his shirt and run down to his fly to undo it as well, then one confidently slips underneath. Ron rubs the hardness there for a few electrifying moments before slipping his hand even lower, fingers brushing against the sensitive skin of the inner thigh. 

“Get these… Get it all off,” Lewis manages to pant out, trying to rid himself of his clothes. 

“Yes,” Ron breathes in reply, his voice deep and dark, so full of desire that for a moment Lewis opens his eyes to be there with him. Ron is – there is no better word – a terrifying sight like that. His green eyes have an uncanny flame, something like his determination in combat but hungrier, less contained, his kiss-red mouth is slightly open and his tongue keeps brushing across his teeth as he practically skins Lewis out of his uniform. 

When Lewis thumps back on his back now entirely naked, Ron has managed to get rid of his shirts but his trousers are still on, just pushed down mid-thigh. There is an unblinking lust staring down at Lewis when Ron bodily spreads his legs to shove his way between them, the fabric of his uniform trousers scratching against Lewis’ inner thighs. 

“Tell me,” Ron growls, his hands palming Lewis, “tell me how you want it. Is this how he’d be with you? Want me to use my hand? Want me to suck you off? Want me to take you? Tell me.”

Lewis gasps, breathless and his head spinning with images flying through his mind: Dick leaning over him with just a hand down his pants, Dick with his head between Lewis’ legs, his red hair messy and his lips glistening red, and then Dick pressed against Lewis with his whole body, pressing against his back and pulling his hips up, pushing against him, in him – Lewis pants wetly. “Come on, in me, I want you to – “ 

“Yeah,” Ron growls under his breath and suddenly drops down to bite Lewis’ neck. Ron’s hand fumbles with something from his trouser pocket, something that Lewis has a pretty good idea about, and then warm, slick fingers slide against his opening. They rub and massage, insisting and then invading, lazily pushing in and out, one at the time and then two, all the while Ron tongues and nibbles at Lewis’ neck. 

Lewis puts his arms around Ron, running his hands up and down his strong back and then pushing his fingers into his hair. He stares past the mess of black hair against the side of his face and to the ceiling, gasping shallowly as he’s opened, Ron’s fingers slowly pumping in and out, slipping over each other and the tips rubbing his walls. It feels like being taken apart, just simple fingers making him feel so hot and dizzy and tender. Lewis is trembling and drowning in the sensation, his hands still palming Ron’s back that feels like a rock too smooth to keep him ashore, and his mouth opens to let out breathless moans. He feels the pads of Ron’s fingertips, he feels his knuckles, he feels the warmed-up lubricant bubbling out of him and dripping down in the sheets. 

“O- Oh-“ Lewis wants to tell how filthy it feels, how good it is, how he wants more, but his breath is too short to form words. He stares into the ceiling without seeing it, fingers trying to grip the man’s shoulder blades. 

Ron pushes a third finger in, and Lewis’ back bows as he shakes harder. He feels his knees going weak and his toes curling, and at the same time it’s too much and not enough. He squirms.

Suddenly and without a warning, Ron presses his lips against Lewis’ cheek. His fingers still move like he hasn’t shifted at all, but the sudden affection surprises Lewis and makes him refocus. But Ron isn’t seeking to get his attention, he simply kisses Lewis’ cheek, almost lovingly, and then turns to speak directly in his ear: “You’re doing good, Lew.” 

Lewis chokes on his breath. That empty spot inside him flares with cruel pain, but he also flushes with warmth that wasn’t a part of his arousal before. No one else but Dick calls him that, no one else is that gentle with him. 

He makes a hiccupping sound and hugs Ron close in a sudden urge to just hold him, hold him like he were someone else. For a second a panicked thought of _oh god I’m going to cry during sex_ bubbles up in his mind, but then Ron pulls his fingers out.

After wiping his hand on the sheets, Ron straightens up and pulls Lewis’ hips into his lap. Lewis’ head tips back when he is pulled along the bed, leaving him staring upside down at the headboard, and he has no time to recover before the other man lines up and thrusts in. 

“Oh god,” Lewis moans, “Oh god.”

“Yeah,” Ron agrees, out of breath. 

They don’t talk after that. 

*

Comforting. That’s what it is in its core. It feels good to be comforted, and so it becomes something of a habit whenever an opportunity presents itself.

Lewis is too tired and achingly unloved to fight off his natural appetites, but even in such a state he has half a mind to worry about the bruises Ron leaves behind in his neck and them spending too much private time together. 

Ron may be a strange choice of a companion, but not so much after Lewis gets used to him. He is the wrong man, there is no getting around that, but he is still an intriguing and handsome one. Previously Lewis has in passing noted that Ron is handsome, but in a nonchalant way. Lewis has been too busy being amused and disgusted by how he himself really is a one man’s man to notice anything beyond Ron’s strong physique and handsome face, but now he also takes in the sparkle in his green eyes, his toothy smiles and how smoothly he moves, like a large cat. Ron certainly is a fascinating man too; he has that commanding, dangerous aura to him but when in bed his hands can be so gentle when they play with Lewis’ hair, and his single-minded focus transfers into his way of loving. 

Sometimes, Lewis is afraid of being caught. There’s a thing between them now and it feels like an actual physical string that ties them together, and sometimes Lewis has an uncanny feeling that everyone can see how it pulls at them. 

He wonders how people with a thing like theirs exist among the rest and comes up with nothing. He wonders what’s too much eye-contact, what’s too much touching and what’s too much time together.

He wonders what’s enough distance, what’s enough to be a detour, and what’s enough time to let the man you’re planning to fuck get ahead of you before you can meet up. 

Sometimes Lewis feels like everyone can see something about him that’s changed or maybe revealed for all to see, but that’s something he can discard right away as impossible. He doesn’t know where the feeling comes from exactly and it makes his skin crawl, but he knows he doesn’t carry some sort of a brand or a scarlet letter, so he forces himself to carry on as usual.

He looks at Ron sometimes and finds the man as calm and contained as usual, and now that they have that proverbial string between them, the man’s stoicism reassures Lewis. If there’s a man who can keep a secret, it’s Ron Speirs, and this particular one is secured with both Ron’s honour and professional pride. 

*

“How would you be with him?”

The hand in his hair stills. Lewis looks up at Ron, who in turn is peering down at him, curious. “Why do you ask?”

Lewis shrugs. “You know I think of him all the time and you’re fine with that, but it’s not like I’m your first choice either. I have a hard time believing I match him too well.”

“Well, no. But it’s not like I’m too much like Winters either, so I think we’re even.”

Maybe it is speaking Dick’s name aloud that ruffles Lewis’ feathers the most, but he tells himself he feels irritated by Ron’s avoidance more. “Come on. You do me and let me daydream, so what’s your problem with getting your share? Are you holding whatever it is for Lip, just in case?” 

It is a mean thing to say and it clearly hits Ron the same way Dick’s name slighted Lewis. Ron’s fingers tighten in Lewis’ hair for a second, not enough to hurt but certainly to hold. 

Something aches terribly inside Lewis’ chest, and spurred on by that as well as some natural destructive urge, he presses on: ”Why can’t you even pretend with me?” 

Ron tilts his head to a side and regards Lewis quietly for a moment. He is visibly thinking the point over, simultaneously inspecting Lewis and planning his next move. The hand in Lewis hair is stroking him again, and after long consideration Ron says: “Close your eyes.”

Lewis gives Ron a pointed look but does as he’s told. As soon as he does, Ron pulls his thighs from under his head and gently lays his head on the bed, then stretches out to lie down next to him. For a moment, Ron just lies there, his chest pressed to Lewis’ side and a hand on his chest, his breath whooshing out gentle and quiet but close enough to be felt on the side of Lewis’ face.

Then, the hand laying on Lewis’ chest moves, stroking his collar bone before sliding up the side of his neck, cupping his face and turning his face towards Ron, who leans in to give him a soft kiss. It is softer than anything he has given Lewis before, his lips locking on his, tender and intimate, and when that kiss runs its course, another follows. Ron breathes deeply through his nose and keeps kissing, just kissing and kissing while his fingers skitter along Lewis’ cheek, then slowly creep up and sink into his hair. 

Lewis feels dizzy. Ron’s kisses are slower than ever before, slower and deeper, as tender as they are consuming, and he seems to be content to just lie there, half on top of him, fingers twisting through his hair and kissing him with soft lips and only the barest hint of tongue. Lewis keeps his eyes closed but still his world is spinning. He wonders if he is breathing enough or is Ron intending to kiss him unconscious. 

Then suddenly, Ron’s hand closes into a fist in Lewis’ hair and guides his head back, and his lips slip from Lewis’ mouth and down to his neck. Ron throws a leg over Lewis’ hips and pushes himself on top of him, his mouth is now inspecting the underside of Lewis’ jaw, wet and hot and moving across his pulse point, the tender skin under his jaw bone, then his ear, panting into the shell of it with teeth grazing. 

Even though Ron’s hand is keeping Lewis’ head planted on the bed, the rest of Lewis’ body still squirms under his attention, and something is slowly heating up in his gut. Just kissing and caressing for such a long time is entirely new for Lewis, and he is confused how it could kindle desire in him.

He remembers something like this from many years ago, when he was but a teen experimenting with his Yale roommate with their bed covers intentionally piled up between them like a barrier that somehow meant none of it actually happened. It was nothing but kid’s play, fumbling at something that wasn’t fully realized before. 

Except here with Ron, it isn’t. With Ron, it somehow is the real deal, but then again, most things are.

Even though Ron’s mouth never grows greedier, his hands do. He is pushing his way under Lewis’ clothes and caressing bare skin, his chest, hips, belly, and then following the scarce line of black hair down between his legs, under his trousers, but his mouth just keeps kissing and nibbling, gently suckling and tonguing all those sensitive spots he has found that make Lewis’ face flush and that deep heat burn.

Oh, if Lip only knew… If he only knew, all this could be his. 

But now it is Lewis’, and he feels a strange, almost mean flare of impish joy over it, something awful and green and something he doesn’t care to examine. It is easy to forget when Ron pushes both of their trousers down, fits them together and starts to rock them together. At some point he has gotten his hands on lube because his grip around their cocks is slippery, but easing their thrusting together is all he does with it. Even in this slow-cooked heat that at some point has become unbearable Lewis is astonished by it: everything is so easy, so wonderful and smooth and absolutely intoxicating like a sugar-rimmed glass of absinth, so unassuming and slow, yet it scorches your insides and hits impossibly hard once consumed. 

Ron’s love-making really is like a tall drink of absinth. It goes down so easily with the endless caresses of steady hands and wet lips, never demanding anything of him, so sweet and cheerful, and suddenly Lewis finds himself impossibly drunk on it, stripped bare and near delirium. Ron is sweet poison, flexible and fluid as he thrusts against him and still keeps kissing Lewis all over. 

Lewis doesn’t know when he got this turned on, this shameless, but he distantly realizes that he is softly moaning and whining as he rocks up to Ron, to his slick hand and hot cock. 

They finish like that, thrusting against each other’s soft bellies and mouths caressing whatever skin they happen on, occasionally clashing, Ron fighting to make Lewis come first. 

Afterwards they lie next to each other on the narrow bed, both on their backs and staring to the ceiling. 

“Wow,” Lewis eventually sighs after his head has cleared up enough. “That was something. Something else.” 

Besides him, Ron huffs dismissively. “I did it for me, not for you.”

Lewis snorts. “For him,” he corrects. “Is that really how you want him? You’ve never been like that with me.”

Ron shrugs. Lewis turns his head slightly to sneak a look at him, but Ron reveals nothing aside from physical satisfaction and longing, the usual. 

“That’s what I’d do with him. That, and hundred other things. I do want to take him, if that’s what you’re asking, but I’d work up to it. Seems kind of much for the first time.”

Lewis laughs. “Not for me. I’d want it all right away and several times, probably. God, I want him to do me until I’m begging him to stop,” he sighs.

It's Ron’s turn to scoff as he fishes out a packet of cigarettes from his jacket on the floor and lights one. “That’s because you’re a greedy bastard, Nixon,” he says. He takes a drag, then blows the smoke out towards the ceiling. “Carwood is not. He is sweet and gentle-hearted, and I might want to eat him up, but he’d deserve it slow.” 

Lewis grins to himself and steals Ron’s cigarette from his fingers to take a pull out of it. “Never figured you could be so gentle,” he teases.

Ron takes his cigarette back. “Well,” he says, smokes in small puffs, then looks at Lewis, “I’m in love with him, so.”

Lewis’ smirk hasn’t ever fared well against honesty, and it doesn’t now. Any speech of love makes the empty spot in him ache, and his ever-rational mind reminds him that whatever love he got from Ron was meant for someone else. 

Still, he turns on his side and curls up against Ron. And still, Ron lifts his arm to let him close and drapes it around him in return. 

*

Sometimes Lewis is so worried about getting caught that he becomes almost certain that Dick has them all figured out. Lewis is not only observant, he is Dick’s closest friend and as such knows him through and through, and so he picks up on hints anybody else would miss. He is almost certain that Dick has spotted the bruises and his generally dishevelled demeanour, or noticed him and Ron being absent at the same time for extended periods of time, and put two and two together. 

Lewis is almost sure, but then again Dick says as much as he does about it, which is nothing. Also, Dick might not even be actually observing them, as Lewis has imagined his eyes lingering on him for thousand times just because he really wishes they would. Dick doesn’t know, and even if he did, he wouldn’t bust them. 

So Lewis keeps going with Ron. 

Austria is driving him insane, he swears. Suddenly, there’s peace and stability. There’s sunshine, free time, hot meals and showers. They are billeted in a luxurious hotel that feels like it’s from his previous life. People are _smiling_ for Christ’s sake. 

And Dick is close to Lewis again. He can’t make up his mind if he loves or hates it. Honestly, it’s probably a sick mixture of both, like how he still loves champagne even though he’s puked it up with his head in a toilet bowl. 

Lewis missed him. Only now that they are close and friendly again, work closely together and have free time to actually lounge around and talk, he realizes just how much he missed his friend. Dick is less stressed and lets Lewis joke around, and suddenly Lewis has his smiles again, his affection and bumps of his shoulder, their shared breakfasts and lunches, and his steady looks and the precious, natural companionship they have always had.

Lewis is Dick’s best friend. There’s no doubt of that, no one would contest the claim, and it’s such common knowledge that Lewis could order business cards with that written on them, but at the same time there’s a bitter bite of acid in the back of his throat. He is the best friend, but it’s not enough. It’s just not _enough_ goddammit, and the more Dick showers him with his friendship, the more that empty spot inside Lewis swirls with its nothingness. 

It makes no sense. Lewis has everything he could rightfully ask for and more. Dick seems to even be proud of being his friend again, at least judging by the way he follows Lewis around or asks him to accompany him, how he clearly enjoys being seen together. One night another officer of their battalion says that there’s a saying among them, ‘Major Winters and Captain Nixon, need one, find the other’, and Dick practically beams at that. 

Lewis’ insides ache. 

At the next opportunity he grabs Ron, maybe a little too publicly if the Captain Speirs’ famous cold stare is anything to go by, and drags him out of the officers’ club. He can’t resist the temptation to glance behind them just before getting out of the door, and catches Dick watching them. Their eyes meet for a second, and then Dick looks away like it’s nothing.

Lewis feels like nothing. 

He drags Ron behind him and Ron lets himself be dragged, all the way to Lewis’ room that has a lock on the door. After hastily securing the door, Lewis pushes Ron into the bedroom, all the way to the bed until the backs of his knees hit the edge and he has to sit down. Lewis in turn collapses on the floor before him. He sits on his knees between Ron’s legs with his hands on his knees, with Ron peering curiously down at him. 

Lewis is already trembling, half nerves and half desire. He doesn’t really know if he can do this, but he is sure he wants to. “Please tell me you like blowjobs,” he blurts out, “because I really want to suck you off right about now.”

His directness hasn’t ever bothered Ron who himself is first and foremost practical, but there must be something in his expression that makes Ron’s brows draw close together and his hand reach out to touch his face with his fingertips. He looks almost worried, but whatever it is he doesn’t vocalize, he just says: “Yeah, I like them. Go ahead, Lew.” 

A breathless whimper leaves Lewis’ mouth and he starts to tug at Ron’s belt and trouser buttons. He feels desperate, that’s probably what Ron saw in his face, but he has no time to think about it more. Like this it’s even easier than usual to just forget who he’s actually with and start thinking about Dick.

Hell, Lewis is already thinking about him. He wants to do this to Dick. His knees already go weak at his laugh and scent, he might as well let them give out and slide on the floor before him. There’s no shame or submission in kneeling before Dick, just open weakness and vulnerability. Lewis wants Dick to know that this is what he does to him.

He does everything he dreams of. He wants to love Dick like this, pleasure him and only him without a care about his own turn. He wants to nuzzle against his stomach and undress him from waist down, caress him with both hands and then lean in to taste him. He wants to kiss every part of him, he wants to lick him like soothing a wound, and he wants to offer up his mouth, his lips, the wet caress of his tongue, the insides of his cheeks and his throat. 

He runs his hands up and down Ron’s thighs and takes a hold of his hips, thumbs brushing along the jutting hip bones. He wants him closer and loves the way his hips move under his hands in little jerks, filling his mouth little more, little harsher, just the way he needs him to. 

Ron himself is remarkably quiet, just gasping and grunting above Lewis, his hands buried in his hair and curled around the back of his head. He is like jello in Lewis’ hands, just from his mouth, and the thought gives Lewis a burst of all new confidence. Lewis ignores the way his knees hurt despite the soft carpet and how his legs are numb, just concentrates on sucking, bopping his head up and down, taking in as much hard flesh as he can until he gags. 

“Do you want to swallow?” Ron asks suddenly, breathless and hoarse. “I’m gonna come, Lew, do you want it? You do, don’t you, huh?” 

Lewis’ stomach does a flip. The idea is dirty, and Ron’s voice is heated and raspy from his dry throat. He sounds like he’s seconds away from coming, right on the edge where Lewis has brought him, and oh _god_ suddenly Lewis wants. He whines with a cock in his mouth, bops his head further down and sucks harder, hands curling on Ron’s hips, urging him on.

His eagerness and the newly found vigour does it, and Ron lets out a shivering moan and a string of curses, coming in Lewis’ mouth.

After swallowing down several times, Lewis finally leans on the side and plants his face on the bed next to Ron, who is too busy enjoying his post-orgasm glow to check on him. Lewis’ lips are sore, his jaw aches and the taste lingers musky and sticky in his mouth, but he doesn’t have the mental energy to care about any of it. He is hard in his pants but even that doesn’t interest him. He has the strangest feeling, not gloomy and not regretful, but some sort of predictable discontentment with the reality falling short of his fantasy. He is too exhausted to move.

Then he feels fingers in his hair again. Ron massages tingling circles into his scalp for a minute, and when Lewis finally leans towards him, asks: “Hey. Are you okay?” 

Lewis has his mouth pressed into the mattress and has to turn his head to answer. “Yeah. I’m just… Yeah, I’m okay.” He doesn’t need to explain anything to Ron.

“Come here then,” Ron says, and his hand slides out of Lewis hair to the collar of his shirt and pulls until Lewis musters up the strength to pull himself up and flop on the bed. Ron kicks his trousers off, pulls up his underwear and finally lies down next to Lewis, his hand never leaving Lewis’ neck, his back or his shoulder. Ron stares at him, and Lewis stares back.

“Do you want a hand?” Ron asks, nodding towards Lewis’ lower body, but as Lewis considers it, he finds out that he doesn’t.

“No,” he mutters and closes his eyes.

Ron’s silence is loud. He keeps his hand on Lewis. 

“What you’d want with him?” Lewis asks suddenly.

Ron tries a suggestive note in his tone: “Want me to show you?”

“No, I don’t mean…” Lewis knows what he doesn’t mean, but not what he does. He has to think. “Everything else.”

Ron doesn’t seem to like to think of it. He sighs. “I don’t think there’s a space for that.”

“But if you could –”

“It’s useless.”

“But if you _could_, what would you want?” Lewis insists. 

Ron gives him a look he can’t read, then decides to entertain his question. He sighs heavily again before rolling on his back next to Lewis, one arm folded under his head and the free hand finding a place on Lewis’ lower back where it stays as a grounding weight.

“I’m trying to live my life in a way that won’t leave me with any regrets”, Ron starts, “but one is not having him during this war. This war is coming to an end soon, and I don’t think there are circumstances outside of it where we could be together. I think I’m going to miss this.” His hand gives Lewis’ back a heavy stroke, maybe for emphasis or to include him. 

“But honestly… I don’t know what I’d do with him even if I could have him,” Ron confesses. “I have a feeling that I’ll move around a lot, and it’s not like I can marry him and take him with me. We can’t have children either so we wouldn’t be very productive, so what else would there be? Stolen moments, sneaking around, maybe a secret summer vacation once a year? I don’t even know what he’s like outside the army.”

The more Ron talks, the more depressed Lewis feels. Everything Ron says is true too, and that makes it all so much worse. The longing inside him is so strong that he tries to force himself to see a way for him and Dick, but the only thing he can come up with is a ridiculous image of Dick in his dress greens and a bridal veil on top of it.

“So you’ll just… What? Let it all go?” Lewis asks. “Forget all about him when he’s discharged and never see him again?” His voice grows thick as he speaks.

Ron gives his back another heavy stroke. “No, I won’t forget him. I think he’s one of those I’ll carry with me for the rest of my life, but there’s simply nothing else to do about it.” He takes a thoughtful pause, and Lewis can sense him thinking. “I’ll miss him, though.”

“Yeah,” Lewis agrees. His heart throbs. Ron has spoken up a future that sadly reflects the one ahead of him as well. A future where he says goodbye to the man he loves as they go their separate ways, and there’s no way Lewis can see around that. He wants to join his life together with Dick’s, to stay with him and share everything, but they both will have to grow up soon, and marrying another man is something out of a comedy skit. There’s no place for them in the society. 

“I’d marry Dick if I could,” Lewis blurts out despite himself. Ron gives him a look, and the silence is heavy and sort of judgemental. Lewis feels ridiculous and embarrassed, and he feels a need to explain more, only there’s nothing to say. “I love him like that,” he just adds, muttering.

Ron’s hand strokes his back for a moment, then curls around him, pulling them into an awkward cuddle. “Yeah, I figured,” he says. 

*

Austria is simultaneously both a sanctuary of beauty and endless free time as well as only a middle stop. The Pacific front is still on fire, and it calls for them. They know their time in Austria is only temporary, Ron seems almost eager to go back to war in his own quiet, contained way, while Lewis knows that if Dick goes, he will follow. When the training starts it all becomes real again, and Lewis feels more antsy by each day. He’s trying not to drink as hard as he did in Germany, and he tells himself over and over again that he is the intelligence officer and he will be the first one to know of any new developments, but none of that makes the constant waiting any easier.

He can’t sleep. It’s a good thing that the officers’ club is set up in a hotel that has a lot of room to roam, and bless how virtually no one is interested in asking about any soldier’s night time adventures. So many of the men are sneaking out to meet with local girls that it’s impossible to keep track of them, and Lewis feels especially lucky about the one he’s sneaking out to see being billeted in the same building. 

Ron’s room is a luxury suite that he has picked clean of any valuables. Lewis’ favourite thing about the room is how it’s actually several rooms with the bedroom in the back, secure and private, another sanctuary. After dark Lewis can just let himself in the room and they can go to bed, unhurried and relaxed. 

Tonight Ron is waiting for him, only half-dressed and sitting on the bed with a bedside lamp on and a book in his hands. He only glances up from the book to acknowledge Lewis as he walks in and closes the door behind him, already pushing his suspenders down and shedding his day clothes. When he slips into bed, Ron puts the book down and flicks the light off, then rolls over to meet Lewis in the middle of thick covers and pillows. 

Ron greets him with a kiss on the corner of his mouth, and Lewis is relieved to find it just a simple gesture not meant to go anywhere. He’s too tired for sex, lethargic in a way that he feels both in his body and mind, and he just wants to rest. There’s something in Ron’s presence that makes just being near him feel like resting, and Lewis is perfectly content to just be there and go to sleep. Ron is his usual quiet self by his side, hand resting on his shoulder and close enough to warm him.

Only Lewis can’t sleep. He’s found that to be a persistent problem, too many thoughts running through his mind that feels like it’s too exhausted to stop them and fall asleep. He feels like something great is coming to a close and he is left teetering on the edge, or perhaps waiting for the axe to fall. Many things are coming to an end, and in their conclusion Lewis is forced to evaluate them. What has changed? What, if anything, has been gained?

Lewis’ least favourite thing about Ron’s room is that it’s right next to Dick’s. It’s safe like that, but it's also a nasty reminder. Ron is alive and real next to him, but Lewis thinks back to the Eagle’s Nest to what is probably one of the happiest days of his life, to Dick’s brilliant smile and “I got a present for you”. 

He hadn’t even thought of Ron after that.

Not after Dick had whisked him away, and not after noting how brightly Ron grinned up to Lipton and swayed towards him. He thinks how he had glanced back then just in time to see Lipton yanking Ron up and wrapping him in a tight bearhug to celebrate their victory, how Lipton had squeezed Ron and rocked in his happiness, and how Ron had clung to him and stared over his shoulder looking like he had been kissed by an angel.

Lewis looks at Ron now and tries to feel that petty triumph of having something meant for someone else, but the feeling doesn’t come. Maybe because he has absolutely nothing against Lipton, or maybe because Ron isn’t what he wants so bad his insides seem to wither on themselves. Maybe because Lewis could actually have him and that in itself makes him lose interest, the miserable masochist that he is, and ain’t that a scary thought. 

Instead, he tries to imagine what Ron sees in him. After all, Lewis has given him something meant for Dick. He has wasted his love on him, perhaps hoping that he’d eventually run out, but that seems impossible. Maybe that was what the endless emptiness inside him was, his love, that when he couldn’t give it to the right person has turned into a heartache as deep and true and strong as his love would be. 

“What do you see in me now?” Lewis asks.

Ron’s drooping eyes regain their focus. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, what do I look like, to you. What’s it like, having me in bed with you? What’s it like to be with me?” Lewis clarifies, as much to Ron as to himself.

Ron doesn’t fully seem to get what he means, or maybe the question is hard, but tries to answer anyway. “Well, you are a handsome guy. I like looking at you, and you have a very inviting way of smiling when you want something.” He’s careful with his words, feeling around for what Lewis wants, but he’s still honest with his answers. It’s reassuring how Ron always speaks his mind, and even though he might let Lewis pretend, he won’t play along with lies. 

Ron touches the side of Lewis’ face, his fingers bundled under his chin and thumb reaching to brush against his lips. “You are a sweet and needy lover. It’s sort of a challenge to pleasure you, and I like that. Sex with you is very engaging, and I can always count on getting lost in pleasuring you. I’m a giver, so that’s more than fitting for me.”

Lewis shifts under Ron’s gaze and words. He’s not sure if that was what he was asking for, but he likes hearing it. Somehow it also makes this thing between him and Ron feel more real, more meaningful. He is suddenly acutely aware of their tryst, that they have indeed been truly intimate with each other, and that as a product of it Ron now knows things of him. They may have hidden everything from everyone else, but the moments they have shared are real. It’s both terrifying and wonderful, and Lewis trembles.

Ron seems to sense it, because he quirks half a smile, strokes Lewis’ lips again and keeps talking with confidence now that he is on the right track. “I like sex with you. I like it when you pull me on top of you, and I like how when I can’t see your face you still move under me and make these sweet sounds. I love messing up your hair, and I love biting your neck and squeezing your hips. Did you know you keep touching the marks I leave behind for days afterwards?”

Lewis didn’t know. He feels bashful, something similar to the first signs of intoxication, and the strange pseudo-jealousy from before washes away. Some part of him wants to swoop closer and lay a new claim on Ron and be claimed in return, but he really is too tired to muster up energy for sex. He is somewhat amused by that, how he can’t get himself going even though he is securely in bed with a half-naked, willing man who is running his fingers through his hair, and feels like a sad old man despite being in his mid-twenties. 

“What’s wrong?” Ron asks suddenly. “I can feel you wrecking your brain with something miserable from here.”

Lewis snorts. Ron never does beat around the bush about anything, even when he should. Lewis hates having to explain his innermost thoughts. “Nothing. It’s just strange to think that this will be over soon and we might never see each other again.” 

Ron makes an agreeing noise. Somehow it sounds like he has thought about it too, but not in the same anxious way Lewis does. “Ah. Yes, that’s possible.”

Something about that annoys Lewis and he bristles. “Yep. That’s it. Time is just running out and all that awaits is more of the same boredom as before, but what do I have to complain about? I got to play at love for a hot minute!”

After his outburst Lewis snaps his mouth shut and refuses to feel ashamed of his emotions spilling over like that. Ron looks unfazed by it like nothing can stain his calm, and his eyes gain an inspective tone. “You know, this thing between us has been something,” he says after a moment.

Lewis rolls his eyes. “Yeah, the next best thing, I remember.”

Ron remains steady and gives a little shake of his head. “No. No, something besides that.” He doesn’t say much, but his tone is raw with honesty and heavy with meaning, and that drains Lewis’ will to argue.

He huffs. “Circumstances, then. You love Lip, I love Dick, and here we have been taking that out on each other. I’m pretty sure that’s what we both agreed upon.”

“So bitter,” Ron says, almost coos, and brushes his knuckles against Lewis’ cheek. “So what if we love other people? There are couples with lesser things between them.” 

Lewis thinks about his own marriage, then his parents, and can’t help but agree. “We are not a couple, though,” he notes.

Ron snickers through his teeth and leans forward to kiss him on the cheek. “No, we’re not,” he agrees. “But I have never before laid in a bed with a man like this. And never been with a man whose name I know, and with whom I have a personal relationship. It’s been an experience – a good one.”

Lewis hasn’t really thought of that before. He has had relationships with girls before and assumes that of others, but now is forced to reconsider. “I haven’t been with a man like this either,” he says.

“You see, this thing between us isn’t nearly as meaningless as you fear,” Ron says.

Lewis has to snort and raise a brow at the implications. “As I fear, huh?”

Ron returns his challenging gaze surely and with a bit of humour, nudging Lewis with his shoulder. “You hate being on the second place, Nixon, don’t even try to argue. I know you a little bit by now too.”

Something about that feels good. Not the knowing, that is always the most terrifying part for Lewis, but something about being recognized. Before he was just a surrogate, a convenience, a thief of intimacy, but now he is simply himself. 

“I never imagined you’d like to cuddle,” Ron remarks, and Lewis notices he’s pushed against his side again, while Ron curls his arm around his back, buries his nose in his hair and inhales. “You always smell good.”

It's one of Ron’s odd notions that make Lewis wrinkle his nose awkwardly, but he accepts the affection nonetheless. Something about it reminds Lewis about their limited time, and he feels a little bit like everything is already over, was maybe years ago, and they are only distant memories. It feels like something akin to nostalgia, that soft pain of faint longing, and Lewis accepts the all too familiar sting of oncoming heartbreak.

Ron just holds him, mouth against his forehead. “You know, I do have feelings for you too,” he confesses, maybe just in case it matters. It's vague and lukewarm, but it’s something.

He doesn’t seem to be expecting anything, but Ron’s fearless honesty tends to make Lewis feel obligated to return the sentiment. “I care for you too,” he says in return. He feels Ron smile against his forehead, then his gentle fingers in the hairs in the back of his neck.

Ron takes a deep, savouring inhale of air and sighs it out in a content puff like cigarette smoke. “Remember me sometimes, okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I will,” Lewis promises quietly. He hesitates for a second with more words in his throat, and only the darkened bedroom gives him enough security to actually say them: “Will you remember me too?” 

Ron huffs through his smile and strokes his hand through Lewis’ hair. “I’ll remember you, Lew. Now can we please go to sleep?”

They do, curled up against each other in mirroring poses like two cats.


End file.
